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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

"Bunch Grass A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch"

According to Ikey the conjunction
"if" could not be ignored. Packing bacon beneath the sunny skies of
Southern California was a speculation, he said. Swiggart, he added,
ought to know what good hams were, for he bought the very best Eastern
brand.
"What!" we cried simultaneously, "does Mr. Swiggart _buy_ hams?"
Yes; it seemed that only a few days previously Laban had carefully
selected the choicest ham in the store.
Ajax clutched my arm, and we fled.
"We have convicted the wretch," he said presently.
"The _wretches_," I amended.
The use of the plural smote him in the face.
"This is awful," he groaned. "Why, when you were away last summer, and
I broke my leg, she nursed me like a mother."
"Women throw such sops to a barking conscience."
I was positive now that Laban had stolen the steers, and that his wife
was privy to the theft. The lie about the ham had been doubtless
concocted for purposes of plunder. The kindness and hospitality of our
neighbours had been, after all, but a snare for tenderfeet.
* * * * *
We found Mrs. Skenk--whom we had seen on arrival--sitting on her front
porch, satchel in hand, patiently awaiting us.


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